The Contagion in the Crystal
by BrownRecluse
Summary: When the evidence is "out of this world," the Squints get a little help from members of an elite organization that doesn't exist, but will it be enough to stem a zombie apocalypse?


I don't own the rights to _Men in Black_ or _Bones_. They belong to Lowell Cunningham and Kathy Reichs, respectively. I'm just borrowing some lovable characters for a bit of non-profit fun in story whose setting is after _MIB II_ and before Booth became Dr. Bones' Mister/Baby Daddy. This is also my first time delving into these fandoms, attempting something Sci-Fi flavored, and writing about zombies (talk about being a stranger in paradise!) Hope you enjoy it!

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><p><strong>The Contagion in the Crystal<strong>

**Part I**

New York. Tuesday. Galactic Standard Time.

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><p>Aliens. So many and more came each day: an endless stream of rift shifters and refugees, weaving their way through the main terminus at MIB Headquarters. Shooting through wormholes on a warp jump and a prayer, each hoping the quantum leap would lead them to a place of peace and prosperity, a second haven on a small blue marble in the Milky Way. Good folks, most of them, Zed thought, nodding at the slow snaking throng from his office window. <em>Welcome to the Third Rock,<em> he thought. _I only hope we can protect you._

A smell interrupted his already troubled thoughts. Although _smell _was an understatement for an odor so bracing, the slightest whiff of it made decapitation by an oscillating fan seem downright sensible. Even _fetid stench_ didn't do it justice. An insidious olfactory assault, its acrid tang sliced its way with laser precision through every molecule of breathable oxygen in his pristine, executive fish tank. His eyes began to tear; his nostrils threatened to implode.

"You wanted to see me?" asked a voice from the vicinity of the hallway.

As the body belonging to that voice neared the office door, stinkum rippled ahead of it, forcing Zed to reach reflexively for the cool, metal back of the nearest chair. Did K have to bathe in the stuff? Clearly, its application lay somewhere between an industrial-strength paint thinner and extreme form of birth control–and he was certain those vapors weren't good for the chrome. Silently, and as he'd done so many times before, Zed rued the day he'd allowed the Velvarians to market their planet's lake water as an aftershave.

"Zed?"

Zed's eyes flicked to the window. The barest ghost of a reflection winced back at him in its greenish tint. The look on its face said, _End this torture: strike a match._

No escaping it, then. Straightening, he prepared for the inevitable onslaught, a face-to-face consult with one of his most trusted agents. He took a deep breath – or as deep a breath as he dared. Nope, not yet. Still at the window, he said, "We have a situation, K."

The slow, almost calculated scrape of metal over tile that followed this set his teeth on edge.

"What time's the world going to end this week?"

Cloth rustled and plastic squeaked. A fresh cloud of redolence roiled upward and rebounded off the window as K took his seat.

"Maybe sooner than you think." Scowling, Zed braced himself, turned. "The Zolanium Crystal's been stolen."

"That's old news." K shrugged. "Besides, you've got—"

"Trouble. This just hit the newsstands in D.C. this morning." He thrust a copy of _The National Enquirer _at K's chest. "You know what this means, don't you?"

K glanced at the headline: _ZOMBIES ATE MY GIRLFRIEND! _"You sent a boy to do a man's job," he said. "I knew this would happen."

"That's so typical, K!" Zed's meaty fist made a close contact of the frustrated kind with his desk. "Play I-told-you-so when the apocalypse is at our doorstep! And with Agent J on vacation, here I was, feeling guilty about sending you down there alone." Wooziness getting the better of him, he sank into his seat.

K started from his. "No worries, Zed."

"No worries? You know our operatives in the Metro area aren't capable of dealing with a situation of this magnitude," he spluttered. "Most of them can't even operate a simple neuralyzer without it backfiring. I've had to send in two Sweeper Crews already this week – oh, and did I forget to mention that our agent is still missing? The way things are headed, it'll be worse than the Priscillian Desert Migration of '94. What a mess!"

"I'll handle it," K said from the doorway, "on one condition."

"Anything."

"I want my old car back."

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><p>ii.<p>

Something Bloated, Something Blue

Washington, D.C.

Coffee in hand, Special Agent Seeley Booth ducked under the yellow crime scene tape cordoning off one end of the narrow alley. Glass crunched beneath his boots. Sidestepping puddles of something too dark to be rainwater, backlit by a bank of flashing red and blue lights, he made his way to Cam, who squatted beside an inert form. "What've we got?" he asked, although he'd already considered the possibilities and none of them were good: botched robbery, body dump, OD, drive-by, some poor schmuck in the wrong place at the wrong time. Seeley's list of 'What to Do with a D.B. in D.C' was endless in its scope and depressing in its variation. Early morning call-outs were usually bad, but those in Anacostia, one of the Capitol's seediest districts, were the worst.

"Male. Late twenties to mid-thirties. Shot once in the chest at close range." Flashing him a smile, she stood up, stripped off her latex exam gloves, and deposited them in a plastic bag.

"Cream and sugar: just what the doctor ordered." Booth handed her the cup.

"Not a cure for only a few hours of sleep, but it's a start. Thank you." She took a sip.

"Looks like he's been here a while," said Booth, indicating the corpse's bloated stomach and waxy complexion, its cheesy pallor made all the more disturbing by the dawn's gray drizzle. Then there was the suit. Bible black coat and pants, narrow black silk tie, square buckled black belt, white button-down shirt – cotton, not silk:

Dr. Saroyan nodded. "With this rate of decomp, usually, I'd be inclined to agree, but Metro Police just called it in."

"A little overdressed for this part of town, don't you think?"

She nodded. "Given this part of town, I'm surprised he's still in it. His wallet's gone. So are his shoes."

"So it's a dump: someone killed him, kept him, and then dropped him here last night," said Booth.

Cam raised her hand. "Not even close, Booth. I meant what I said before and it's _not_ an approximation: time of death was hours not days ago."

"Two hours?" The words, followed by Booth's sudden and too-loud laugh, ricocheted off the crumbling brick walls of the empty buildings on either side of them. One officer, stationed near the street to divert curious passersby, glared at Booth over his shoulder.

Clearing his throat, Booth lowered his voice and said, "I'm no doctor, Cam, but even_ I_ can see that—ugh!" A gust of wind cut him off. Waving one hand at the remains while covering his nose with the other, Booth retreated to a safer spot downwind.

"Have I ever lied to you before?"

Scissoring his hands over the body, Booth said, "No, but—"

"I haven't even told you the best part, yet. He had bits of flesh between his teeth. _Human_ flesh." Dr. Saroyan flashed him one of her trademark, cat-that-ate-the-canary grins.

"A cannibal corpse?" _Not another Gorgonzola,_ he thought. _Haven't we all had enough of that? _Booth cocked his head and wagged a finger at her. "Now, Camille…"

"Unless you'd like to join our friend here, don't call me that." Her eyes flashed like sparks in the dawn's bleary haze. If you don't believe me, then ask your witness," she indicated one of the patrol cars angled at the end of the alleyway. "A local working girl. She can place him here and very much alive – at least he was before she shot him – at four o'clock this morning."

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><p>iii.<br>An Outrageous Statement

Booth drummed his fingers on the polished tabletop. "Okay, Miss Congeniality—"

"Constantine!" The thin girl with spiky, black hair crossed her arms and glared at him. "Jo Constantine!"

"Whatever. Why don't you try telling the truth this time." He slid a legal pad and pen across the table to her. "Write it all down for me. If I like it, then maybe you'll walk out of here without so much as a solicitation charge. Otherwise, I'm holding you on suspicion of murder."

Sighing, Jo rolled her eyes. "Look, I already told you everything I know. I met him, we went into the alley to—"

"Negotiate," Booth nodded before continuing, "at which point, he started growling, allegedly bit you—"

"Effing freak _did_ bite me! Look!" She thrust her bandaged forearm under Booth's nose. A bloody splotch had blossomed on the gauze wrap. "I thought he was gonna tear my friggin' arm off!"

The Squints would decide if the bite marks were human or not, Booth thought_._ "Okay, so he bit you, and then…"

"It freaked me out! I thought he wanted to – _you know_ – but the whole time, he never spoke – all he did was growl at me, like he wasn't even human or something, you know? And then, he wouldn't – he wouldn't let go – so I – I—" She started to sob.

"Popped him with the .45 caliber pistol police discovered on you at the scene," Booth said.

"I wanna see a lawyer."

"Sure thing," said Booth. "Right after we get you a rabies shot."

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><p>iv.<br>Tweaker Theory

"Bit her? You mean, like a vampire?" Hodgins stared at the body on the autopsy table. "Or would you say he was more a werewolf kind of guy?"

Cam chuckled. "Whoever he was, I found tissue between his teeth, as well as traces of a powdered substance in his nose. Tiny crystals of some kind." She handed Hodgins a small specimen container. "So, until you prove otherwise, I'm going with tweaker."

"That could explain his behavior," said Hodgins.

"Mm-hmm." Cam picked up a scalpel. "Right now, that's the only thing that _does_ make any sense."

"What'd the blood tests show?"

"I just sent samples to the lab. We won't have toxicology or culture results for a couple of days."

Hodgins regarded the body narrowly. "Odd, that there was no evidence of insect activity."

"With this level of tissue degradation, it's odd, alright. There's just no way he could've been up and walking around, much less attacking..." Cam shook her head. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but you know, if I didn't know better, I'd swear—"

"Oh, man, we're thinking the same thing!" Hodgins' face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Dude's a zombie!"

Cam chuckled. "Let's not go there, Doctor."

"Why not? With Dr. Brennan still off identifying skeletal remains in Tibet, there's no one here to _pooh-pooh_ our theory."

"Theory? More like speculation," Cam said, "and you know what she'd have to say about that."

Hodgins grinned. "But Cam, you just said yourself…"

Cam rolled her eyes. "And already regretting it! Let's just stick to science for the time being, shall we? That is, unless you're considering a career change? If you'd prefer to pounce on a paranormal explanation before ruling out a rational one, I hear the TAPS crew in Rhode Island is looking for a new assistant."

"Have it your way." Hodgins started towards the stairs. "But when these babies turn out to be some kind of Voodoo death dust," he shook the container before continuing, "don't say I didn't say, 'I told you so!'"

"The thought never crossed my mind," said Cam.

(To be continued...)


End file.
